


If-Then-Else

by CobalticArkangel



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Danganronpa IF Revision, F/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:18:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobalticArkangel/pseuds/CobalticArkangel
Summary: The roads forked, and paths diverted. There was no use dwelling in the perhaps. All that mattered was what happened, and how they moved past it all. Infinitesimal branches jut out, slicked by anxiety, wreathed in chance.





	1. Chapter 1

The windows were barred shut, thick metal plates welded into the framework. The hallways overlapped and looped, feeding hapless wanderers back into its awaiting maw. Cameras panned around, sweeping their fields, diverging only to observe motion with their unblinking lenses.

Prison, essentially. In spite of the gaudy colours, or the whimsical music blaring from the intercom, or the multiple allegations, bordering on confirmations, in fact, that this was a school: _Hope’s Peak Academy_.

The name brought no comfort to the boy. It should have, he felt. He’d woken up that morning with that name clinging to his lips. He’d felt excited, of all things, and that was gone now, replaced by morbid confusion and am ominous feeling of apprehension. Inquisitive Hazel eyes found themselves tracing circles across the ceiling, their owner lost to wonder.

Makoto Naegi wondered a lot. There was a lot to wonder about in his, all things considered. Why he was here sprung to mind. Why was he here?

_Luck. Lottery._ He remembered.

Out of millions of other students across the nation, and thousands of Reserve Course Students stumbling and stomping over on another just for a chance of a chance to be where he was right now, or rather, what he was: An Ultimate. The Ultimate Luck.

He paused, fingers lightly drumming on the varnished flooring. Idle thoughts floundered about ceaselessly, with no answers in sight.

Luck wasn’t a talent, at least to him. He refused to see it as such. Talents could be trained, and improved, not ridden as an easy gateway to excellence. He’d been born in a relatively well-off family, in a country with a booming, self-sustaining economy, during the most peaceful period of human existence.

He’d won a lottery to set his future in stone, going beyond excellence. It didn’t quite feel right, to refer to it as a talent. He couldn’t improve it, bolster it. He couldn’t exactly train himself to call more coin flips correctly or improve his talent in any reasonable way.

And right now, staring into his doppelganger in the steel barricade, he couldn’t bring himself to care about that.

He rapped a knuckle against the plate, accomplishing nothing but leave his hand throbbing. They were trapped, robbed of the outside world.

Makoto pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

_At least the problem has been identified. Soon, so will the solution._

_Hopefully._

The school was gorgeous, a castle of shimmering glass and stone. It was a beacon of hope, and a promise of a future. He’d remembered seeing it, once, before his vision warped and he’d sputtered out of conscious.

It was wreathed in wrought iron gates, sheltering it from the outside world and its “mediocrity”.

The last part always went unsaid by the staff, though it had been blatantly obvious from the attitudes he’d observed even before setting foot on campus.

_Talent meant everything to those people, and I had none._

Luck was just occasionally-favourable dice rolls and negligible conveniences. It wasn’t a talent he could improve, and it was never one he felt he’d earned.

As the distance between his companion’s capabilities and his own grew, Makoto knew he’d be left behind. The only thing he could improve were his weaknesses. That wouldn’t be enough, but it was something. More importantly, it would be a start.

* * *

 

The rules had been set. A monochrome, one-eyed bear had seen to it.

The previous sentence had ended on a rather strange note, but that’s where life had lead to at this point of time.

The bear called itself Monokuma and had explained the terms of its sick game to all of them. The price of freedom would be blood: first a victim’s, then everyone else’s should their killer escape notice. Ground rules were established, promptly broken, and the automaton had exploded.

In a literal sense. Debris swept through his air, and “students”, as Monokuma _lovingly_ referred to them as, took care not to aggravate the sadistic “headmaster”. Presumably sated with its display of power, the bear waddled off, laughing it’s strange, maniacal laugh the entire way.

Surreal would have been an appropriate word, if they hadn’t already passed far beyond that point.

There was a button in his hand. It hadn’t been there before.

Makoto had won it off a strange machine, using even stranger currency.

It was bright red, connected onto some sort of panel that had an antenna jutting out, not unlike those found in old-timey cartoons his grandparents used too watch with him. In fact, it may have actually been modelled on that exact template.

The words **_“Escape Switch”_** were hastily-scrawled onto the device.

_Schmuck bait._

It would have been comical, had the situation been even slightly better. It reminded him of those old ACME knickknacks that would blow up in their ill-intentioned user’s faces.

Unfortunately, the parallels were probably intentional, Knowing the bear, he’d be far more surprised if it didn’t blow up.

_But… what if?_

His thumb traced a line down the device, stopping just short of the vivid red trigger.

If he hadn’t done the things he did, he wouldn’t be who he was.

If he hadn’t put his name in the lottery, he wouldn’t have been an Ultimate.

He wouldn’t be here right now…

...

. . .

Well, the prospect was beginning to sound more appealing than it had back then, but that wasn’t the point!

Makoto gripped the device determinately, steeling his nerves as best he could. Then he sighed, shoving the blasted thing in his pocket.

One could argue Makoto was a lot of things, but idiot wasn’t an image he lived as, nor wanted to propagate. Pressing the button now, with no witnesses, and having no idea not only the _if_ but _where_ of the device, not to mention the assorted _when’s, why’s, and how’s_ likely to reveal themselves entirely in hindsight, would presumably pave the road of regrets and missing fingers.

* * *

 

Junko Enoshima’s calculating gaze tracked her former classmates.

Some of them stared back, unnerved at her frankness.

That wouldn’t have been out of character for her, now, would it? She wasn’t that blatant, but her sister most definitely was, in spite of the fact her sister never needed to. Her sister, the real Junko, was a master of obfuscating her cunning, hiding it behind a persona… personas, rather, to pass her boredom.

That was what she was doing now, in fact, though for far different reasons. “Junko” twisted a pale pink pigtail around her index finger, a nearly imperceptible grimace contorting her firm features.

The bear had come and gone, delivering her sister’s instructions with its trademark theatrics. People had panicked, naturally, and lashed out, and for the first time in many, many years found herself only as an impassioned observer of conflict. A non-combatant.

That wouldn’t remain for long. It simply wasn’t an option. Tensions would surge, given enough time. Someone would make a mistake, and everyone else would pay the price.

Her role was to create that, a primer of sorts. Her sister had reassured her that was all she needed to do, and her own peers would take care of themselves.

Junko -the real one- had said it to her with a smile, overblown and uncommitted to her actual feelings. Still, the memory brought her comfort. Pink blush dusted “Junko’s” cheeks.

The intercom blared to life, static grating even her controlled nerves. Monokuma’s shrill falsetto followed shortly.

“ **Attention all students** **…** ” A pause… four or five counts, perhaps. Then tapping onto the microphone, the distortion reverberating through the school.

“ **This thing on!?** ” A shrill screech blared, far longer than it should have been. Junko-the real one- had to be messing with them on purpose.

“ **All-righty then-!** ” A hacking, exaggerated cough interrupted. “ **Good evening, germs and gems. I bet you’re all famished, huh? dining hall in ten. attendance, mandatory! don’t test me on that yet, puh-lease?** ”

She could practically hear her sister’s rictus grin spreading through the speaker.

“ **For now… upupupupahahaha-!** ” Another exaggerated hacking fit, the bear lost to its own laughter, followed by the audio systems mercifully shutting off.

The Ultimate Soldier made her way to the gymnasium, spotting the black jacket and ruffled brown hair belonging to her 2nd favourite person in the world. The taut line on her face turned up into a smile out of habit, before settling into a more neutrally dazed smirk. That was what they would expect from her, right?

* * *

 

_I remember you._

Dark blue eyes widened in recognition before hiding seeking shelter behind perfect eyelids. A serene small graced the girl’s face.

_Maizono…_ His thoughts trailed off, leaving the boy staring blankly at the only presence remaining of his previous life.

The same soft features, drawn into a familiar face he’d come to remember from his year’s in Elementary. Long blue hair that had framed her once round face cascaded down to her skirt. It had been no more than a few years, but the memories of Maizono flooded back, vivid and comforting.

_How could I ever forget her?!_

Almost involuntarily, his body had moved to grasp her in an abrupt hug, only realising somewhere along the way that it may not have been the most appropriate of things to do. He stopped himself just as abruptly, tucking his hands into his jacket pocket, a sheepish smile appearing on his face.

_don’tnoticedon’tnoticepleasedon’tnoticedon’tnotice_

“Are you alright, Naegi?” The Pop Idol asked, head tilted curiously.

_she’s so close she’s so close she’ssoclose_

“Y-Yes, of course.”

Makoto took a deep breath, using the moment to compose his thoughts.

_Ummmmmmmmmm…._

“It’s nice to see you again, Maizono.” The boy greeted, hoping with all his strength that his words didn’t catch in his throat.

The Pop Idol replied with a saccharine smile. “Hello, Naegi.”

_What do we talk about? Crap…_

_Wait… have we actually talked?_

_Like, ever?_

“Errrmmm…” The _ahoged_ -boy in question so eloquently began, soon met by an inquisitive look, then a strange sort of silence settled between them.

He glanced around the dining hall again, finding it just as devoid of other people as it had been moments ago. His brain racked itself for questions, answers, facts- anything, really- before giving up entirely.

His thoughts, or the act of scrambling to find them, were interrupted by Maizono coughing into her fist. “I guess we never really talked much back then, did we?”

_We never really talked at all…_

“Yeah, not really…” he rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain.

_Thoughts. Find them._

“I’d always wanted to. You know, talk to you.” She shared, eyes not quite meeting his.

_Wha-_

“I never could, I guess. Too many people, and too little time…” she trailed off, muttering gradually softening in volume.

“You never looked at me then…-”

“You were a celebrity, Maizono. I couldn’t just go around staring at you-“

_Wait…_

“How did you know I never looked at you?”

“Because I looked at you all the time.”

_Huh?_

“Huh?” Heat rushed into his cheeks. _Unbelievable._

“Why, though? Why me?” Makoto questioned, earnestly confused at that. “I’m no one special.”

She giggled. “But you are, Naegi.”

_Am I? No… but I won’t argue yet._

“Do you remember the bird that wandered into the pond?”

_The bird…_

The choice was one of three at the moment.

“The Heron-?” he responded sheepishly, the answer feeling wrong the moment it left his mouth.

A light fist swatted at his shoulder. “Noooo, silly! The crane…”

Comprehension and recollection dawned on the boy. “The school, right? Then it walked into the pond, and sat there or something like that?”

“Yes,” the Pop Idol confirmed. “And you led it back home to the forest.”

The memory returned to Makoto in full clarity, details sharpening in his mind. “Anyone would have done that, Maizono. It just so happened to be on my day on the job.”

“But it wasn’t anyone, Makoto. It was you.” She brought a hand up to hide her own face. Part of him wished she was just as embarrassed as he was, though he highly doubted that. She was used to the attention… she had to be. “And I thought I’d never get to see you again.”

“Well, here I am!” He reassured, loudly, glad his hands were tucked in his jacket lest his fingers be seen fidgeting impulsively.

Maizono laughed again, and the world seemed simpler, for that one short, glorious moment.

“Kind of a shame we’d meet under these circumstances. I was hoping something more… dramatic. I’m glad you’re here with me-“

She cupped her own mouth shut, eyes widening in shock. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean- I never meant- Ugh, I’m so selfish, and-”

Before she could continue, Makoto settled a firm hand on her shoulder. “It’s Ok, I promise. I’m with you.”

Then he blushed, pulled his hand off, and chuckled nervously at his own display. “While I’d rather not be here myself, I’m glad I can help bring you some semblance of comfort, Maizono.”

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. But it was something.

In a place like this, that meant everything.

Lithe arms found themselves wrapped around his shoulders, then pulling away just as abruptly.

“Thank you, Makoto.” The Pop Idol added, firmly refusing to make eye contact with the boy’s equally flushed face.

“Ne-Never a problem, Maizono. D-Don’t sweat it…”

Silence settled, far more comfortable than it had ever been, it seemed.

Then the bear pranced onto the stage.

* * *

 

_Pompadour. Leather Jacket. Crazy Diamonds insignia. Shaken by previous events, but maintaining a confident facade. Barely. Partly out of obligation, but possible for coping?_

_Dirty Blond hair. Black frame glasses. Cold, but not stoic. Prefers solitude to company. Dislikes being proven wrong. Confident. Distrusting. Cynical. Dangerous._

_Long, pale hair. Thick, sinewy musculature speaks of great degree of personal training. Eyes closed often, confident in capabilities. Intimidating._

_Why are these the type of thoughts I have?_

Kiyoko Kirigiri pondered on that note for a moment.

_Irrelevant to current situation why. Useful, though, for the time being._

_Bear on table, making garish, theatrical display. Eccentric… would be gross understatement._

She craned her neck to the left.

_Couple conversing. Blue and brown hair. Sayaka and Naegi, likely. Conversing with one another. Pair seem nervous, though not tense, as if probing for boundaries to be avoided.. Blushing, awkward. No, not awkward. Comfortable, strangely. Experimental, likely._

A small smile crept up her lips, so minute she barely even noticed herself.

_Why am I smiling? Save for their names, I don’t know them._

She paused her inspection, deep in thought. A gloved hand, her own, ran through her lilac strands, stopping at something. She paused again.

_Braid. Why is there a braid?_

Cautiously, she ran her hands across her body.

_Arms, more defined. Legs, sleeker. Figure, more…_

She took a few controlled paces forward.

_Balance, acceptable. Posture, different. Somehow. Back straighter, chest heavier._

_Interesting…_

She moved to take note of it on her Monopad before stopping herself.

_Find notepad and pen later._

She made a mental note of it for the moment. Hopefully, she wouldn't need too for long.

_Monokuma mentioning AV room. Relevant, somehow. To be investigated._

_Bear leaves, and everyone relaxes._

_Mondo begins yelling at Naegi, then pleading, suddenly. Strange._

_Naegi leaves room. Sayaka follows._

* * *

 

_AV room. Naegi is tense, shaking. Unsettling, honestly._

Kirigiri moved towards the boy.

_Ahoge, drooping. Fist twitching. No, Hand swelling. Desk dented._

“Naegi…” she paused, searching for the appropriate words. “Are you unwell?”

_Naegi is shaking. Breaths are quickening. Knees, trembling. Fearful. Of what?_

Everyone is standing by, doing nothing but stare at him. anxiety and confusion permeate the air.

“Naegi.” She stated, mustering all the softness her voice could carry. “What happened?”

He pointed at a box wordlessly.

_Plain, brown cardboard. Fifteen video messages, each with different names._

_Makoto had returned his. He seems to want nothing to do with it._

Wordlessly, she picked out her own from the pile, seeking the farthest corner of the room to avoid unwanted observers.

The video was shot in grainy, black-and-white film, audio blank. It was a morbid attempt at humor on their captor’s part.

The video began on a still shot of her grandfather’s office, Mahogany desk and aged, elegant furnishings speaking of their proud legacy.

Her grandfather sat behind it, pale cirrus hair and sharp features standing out. In spite of herself, she smiled. She missed the old man.

It fell of her face the moment she remembered who took the video.

A man walked into the office, charcoal grey suit and head hidden from frame, taking a seat on the worn table. Her grandfather’s kindly features morphed into a grimace, anger radiating. He was calmly warning the intruder.

**“Get of my desk. Before I remove you from it.”**

She could read lips. Since when could she do that?

The suited man laughed, or so it seemed. What parts of his suit remained in frame seemed to shudder. Her grandfather seethed, hand reaching below his desk. Likely to grab the cane he’d long since retired and beat the man senseless with it.

That would have been a preferable outcome, though not one she was expecting. The fact the video was sent here made the conclusion foregone.

The suited man’s hand slipped of frame just as her grandfather showed a curious expression: confusion. She’d never seen him unsure in her whole life.

Off-frame, a baton struck her beloved grandfather’s forehead, knocking him out of shot, behind the desk he’d come to spend most of his life with.

The audio suddenly cut in, without warning. From the silence she’d learned to expect and adjust to, it was positively deafening.

The suited man swept a leg over the desk, landing boots-first onto something. She hoped it wasn’t her grandfather but hoping didn’t make it any less painful to imagine. Another set of vicious strikes had her hands clenching shut.

The suited man stopped, mercifully. He turned to face the camera. A monochrome mask smirked at her from the television screen. Her fingers tightened around her palm.

“ **KYOKO KIRIGIRI** ,” The bear’s voice interrupted, startling her already rattled nerves. “ **GRANDAUGHTER OF THE FAMED FUHITO KIRIGIRI, IN THE FIELD OF WHATEVER THE HELL HE’S FAMOUS FOR!** ”

Her mask of stoicism reformed, eyes forward in a firm glare at the screen.

“ **TRULY, OPPORTUNITY STRIKES IN THE HARSHEST OF PLACES.** ”

The screen faded to black, a gaudy FIN sign overlaying a blank grey screen.

More vicious sounds. Sounds she could likely identify but chose not to for her own sake. She could the bile rising, bubbling in her throat, tasting the acidic tang on her tongue.

**[ LOOK FOR THE ANSWERS AFTER GRADUATION]**

Her breathing was level, surprisingly. No shakes, or tremors. Other than her clenched fists, nothing outwardly indicated any sort of real distress.

She glanced about. Owada was losing it, seemingly, pompadour slicing currents through the air. Ishimaru was currently banging his head into the acoustic wall panels, for all the good it did. Chihiro was on the floor, back propped up against said wall, weeping openly. Celeste was shaking in outrage, lips pursed into a snarl, taloned finger tracing circles into the air.

And yet, here she was, unaffected. It must have seemed that way to them.

_How am I doing this?_

A question for another time. Answered sooner, hopefully, rather than later.

* * *

Maizono was the first to start cracking, her bubbly persona giving way to the dark possibilities lurking in her thoughts. She was the first to leave, sprinting away from the AV room with a complicated expression.

Kirigiri was shaken, though she hid it well. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible if one didn’t look for it, but blatant if one did. Her cheeks were drawn in a taut line, posture so rigid it bordered fragile.

Fukawa began yanking at her pigtails, mouth curled into a silent scream, the most restraint Junko had seen her display. Of course, it was over just over a damn bug. _That_ was tragic, even for someone accustomed to it.

She’d seen the videos. Helped make some of them, in fact. She knew for a fact that some of these people had nothing to look forward to if they left.

Her eyes were drawn to the camera’s sweeping the room. Her Sis was probably up there in her little hidey-hole, greedily taking in the bleak atmosphere of despair she’d cultivated.

“Junko” didn’t touch her tape. What it could reveal had equal chance to compromise her or her cover, and she’d planned to take it to her room and stuff it somewhere deep within her sister’s overloaded closets.

The choking cloud of fear and desperation she’d long learned to breath through was suffocating everyone else. She left them to their despair.

It wasn’t something she worked towards; it just shadowed her, like an old, unwelcome friend. One she’d grown to tolerate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have fucked up on formatting the last chapter. I'm new to Ao3, sorry.

_The darn button._

It taunted him.

The weight in his pocket was anything but comforting. It beckoned him with false promises and infinite possibility.

Makoto was currently in his room, exhaustedly reclined on the bed, wanting to sleep but not finding it. Ever so often, his eyelids would curtain his sight, only to flicker open immediately.

_This was gambling, wasn’t it?_

He’d want to ask Celestia Lewd-Liu-Luden- he’d ask Celes tomorrow. Then again, he’d have a decent idea on what she’d suggest.

An amused giggle, followed by encouraging him to have at it. She was the Ultimate Gambler, offered a potential bet she had had nothing to lose but everything to gain from.

Meanwhile, the button taunted him with more possibilities.

_It could blow up in my hand… like something straight out of a cartoon..._

His face drew into a laugh before the reality of the situation set in. After all, he wouldn’t be left comically singed so much as macabrely mutilated.

_It could… open a secret exit, like it promised…_

Doubtful, but the possibility lingered, without any real reason to believe so.

_It could… put Monokuma in a dress…_

Yeah, he definitely needed to sleep. Preferably sooner, rather than later.

But the possibilities refused to let him rest, his addled brain far too enamoured with entertaining ifs.

But what was there to lose, really? From what their captor had told them, they were trapped until blood was shed.

Monokuma was sadistic, not impulsive. The button wouldn’t hurt hi-do any dam- do any lasting damage… right?!

It was equally possible the bear didn’t even kno-

_Nope. Doubtful._

But was there any real choice? Take chances, make mistakes, and all that…

_And Maizono…_

She was terrified, and that terrified him. Her ever-present smile gave way hours ago, face trembling and hidden, and her breaths turned ragged sprinting away from the AV room.

He’d promised her his protection. He’d promised to find a way out for everyone-

_Since when did the plan go for everyone?_

He asked himself, mulling over the sudden change in himself.

He just did. It was as simple as it was true.

He trusted them, some more than others, obviously, but he wanted them all to live just as badly as he wanted to leave.

And that meant risks. Stupid, stupid risks that were unlikely to pay off, but were all he had right now.

So, Makoto pushed the button.

And instantly regretted his decision.

Pain surged through his fingers, setting off nerves he didn’t even know he had on fire. His fingers clenched around the device against his will.

His body began spasming, limbs swinging and striking and shaking and-

He fell off the bed, landing face first into the unforgiving floor. His nose scrunched at the unexpected impact, then the pain stopped flowing.

A knock on the door. Then another. Then a few more for good measure, emanating from somewhere near the bottom, increasing in urgency.

“ **Nae-gi…Naegeee** …” someone murmured from behind the door.

Makoto groaned internally.

“ **It’s me… everyone’s favourite headmaster** …”

Makoto groaned externally.

“ **I can hear you in there… I can hear your breathing… it’s so soft… almost like you aren't, actually.** ”

Makoto blinked. _That_ was unsettling.

“ **Would you kindly open the door?** ” Monokuma cooed, in his… it’s… Monokuma’s trademark unnerving falsetto. “ **Before I kindly open it for you** _._ ”

The door swung open in a wide, frantic arc.

“S **uch a good boy, Naegi**.” Monokuma praised, voice only somewhat sarcastic.

“ **Your parents must raised you well- oops, sorry** …”

Makoto’s fists clenched shut.

The bear raised its paws to its face in _faux_ shame.

“ **To soon, I take it?** ” It rubbed a small paw at the back of its neck-head-just the back? (Did it even have a neck?) “nervously”. The gesture fell flatter than Makoto did moments earlier.

Brown eyes eyed the monochrosity nervously.

An uncomfortable silence, at least from one side, ensued.

“ **You’re killing me here smalls!** ” it wailed theatrically. “ **I thought you of all people would be ec-static at being given my full attention**.”

_Huh?_

“ **Well, i guess i shouldn’t exactly be shock** ed.” The bear continued, back turned to the teen. It tone dropped to a low mumble. “ **I suppose i did do something quite re-volt-ing, amping up the stakes and all that…** ”

Seconds passed between the two, the uncomfortable air replaced with a confused one. Sweat, somehow, began to bead on Monokuma’s forehead.

The bear, again, chose to break the silence first, cheery voice beginning to dip into resignation. “ **I know you pressed the switch, Makoto**.” It sighed, obviously dissatisfied with having to explain it’s supposed cleverness.

_I see…_

“So… what happens now?” He replied, unsure whether he was awkwardly nervous or just nervous. Makoto had always been aware he’d been… lacking, in terms of wit, but this was the first time his conversational partner could actually kill him for it.

The bear sighed again, subdued and presumably disappointed. He took some small pleasure in that, though was careful enough to not let it show.

“ **Million-to-one odds, you know, kid?** ”

“Um…” Makoto replied, ever the eloquent respondent.

Monokuma rolled his eyes, which meant it craned its entire neck up to the ceiling. Satisfaction bloomed in his chest, a strange, not-unwelcome feeling of an unintended job somehow well-done.

“ **Million-to-one odds that you’d get the switch from the machine. And million-to-one odds you’d get the joy buzzer bit from it.** ”

“I can see how the odds are kind of… skewed… against it…”

Understatement among understatements. In other news, the sun was also a tad warm.

Makoto bit his cheek. Monokuma presumably did the animatronic equivalent of that.

“ **Well, congrats on the luck, I guess...** ” Monokuma dejectedly shrugged, the action evident without any actual shoulder movement. “ **Spasms should subside within forty-eight to seventy-two hours.** ”

_Spasms?_

“From the joy…buzzer…thing...whatever…. I’m tired.” And on that note, the instigator of their torment slammed the door shut like a precocious child.

Then, as if the gods of comedic timing smiled viciously upon him, the Ultimate Luck found himself involuntarily reintroduced to the floor.

<\-- -->

Makoto awoke on his bed, head rested on a pillow. He didn’t remember when that had happened. It shouldn’t have, right?

He should have been on the floor, face down and neck cramping up.

He wasn’t complaining, of course.

Someone must have found him in that state, picked him up, and gently laid him on his bed. That was nice of them.

His leg twitched. _Darn it_.

_Forty-eight to seventy-two hours, huh?_

He turned his eyes to search for the clock he didn’t have, realizing that little tidbit after sweeping the room twice over.

He raised his wrist to check the watch he didn’t wear anymore, yet again disappointing himself.

Then he decided that clocks didn’t matter, the spasms would fade, and they’d all live happily ever after they figured a way out of this prison.

Then his brained throbbed. No, it _seared_.

Colours and shapes blitzed through his mind, something he could only relate to watching a two-hour movie, in just as many seconds, through a lens of a soda straw.

Did that make sense? Well, it didn’t for him either!

Pain was something his body knew how to process, and it was all it could process at that moment. Makoto bit back a scream, swallowing the pain before it bubbled out of his control.

_Breathe. Breathing is good. Breathing means you’re alive._

He inhaled deeply, audibly. It sounded like a choked gasp, and his lungs ballooned. His fingers trembled.

_Pain. Pain is goo- pain means you’re alive._

He shut his eyelids, content to wait out the rest of his night comfortably. He leaned left, settling his arms on side and his back to the floor-?

His eye twitched. Possibly not from the shock.

_Darn it._

_< \-- -->_

 

Kyoko Kirigiri glared into the mirror. Her reflection glared back. Kirigiri wasn't intimidated.

Her reflected twin likely felt the same way.

She worked to undo her braid, cool leather-bound fingers running through her hair. It fell in a gentle cascade, riding down her shoulders. It was a welcome distraction.

_Tsk._

She’d acknowledged it as such. Her first mistake. What she used it to hide from came back with a vengeance.

Squelching noises. Assorted thumps. Soft moans of pain.

All of them emanating from her father. Not the biological one, but the one who raised her, loved her, never left- ergo, her real father.

All she knew about what happened was she wanted to know. It was maddening, and there was not a thing to be done about it.

Yet.

But until then, there was not a thing to be done.

She leaned forward, cupping the sink’s cool water into her palm. Kirigiri dampened the bottom of her face, eyes seemingly blank but fixated deeply into the mirror, scanning.

_I am cautious._

_Progress_.

One more thing she knew about herself, added to a very short list that included her grandfather, her fondness of coffee, her gloves, and the reasons behind their necessity.

_I am cautious._

Who she was must have been in dangerous situations often.

She rinsed the left side of her face, keeping a pale iris glued to her reflected surroundings. She repeated the process on the opposite side of her face.

She strode to her door, taking care to avoid making sound in her heeled boots. She didn’t.

She repeated the exercise, minus the caution. Audible steps, but only just.

What did that say about her?

Kiyoko Kirigiri was unsure, but more information was always welcome.

She slipped into her room, took in the unchanging details of her bare shelf and sanitary surroundings.

She closed the door gently, yanking the door to check that the lock held. It did, and she moved on with her routine.

She moved to her clothing rack, being greeted by a dozen uniforms, each identical to the one she currently wore. It was possibly the same for the other students. She hadn’t gotten around to checking yet.

She grimaced, back turned against the camera. The bear’s warped sense of humour certainly shone through. Not that reminders were necessary.

She picked one out at random, moving towards her bed.

By the camera.

She hooked the hanger around the camera’s stand, the outfit draping off the entire lens. The camera routine sweeps seemed to pivot across its arc faster, as if it were aware of the obstruction and trying to be rid of it.

Kirigiri moved to the disposal bin, gloved hands digging to find what she’d hidden. After a moment, she triumphantly raised an empty food tin in he hands. After a few more, she had a set.

She went to work stacking them just beyond the door’s frame. Once she completed that, she swung a palm at the mound, the sound of metal ringing off ceramic echoing through her ears. The sound remained the same as it had been the previous night. No one had tampered with it.

Was she being paranoid?

 _Yes_.

Would that stop her from acting on that?

 _No_.

She undid the ribbon in her braid, tying one end to the door latch and the other to the bottom can, ensuring the fabric was taut.

A hasty tripwire. She hoped it would be unnecessary, but she was cautious.

She grabbed a spray bottle off the lonely table.

Within that bottle lay the key to her salvation. Errr… protection.

Kyoko Kirigiri doubted that her peers would resort to murder within the current timespan, but she wasn’t staking her life on that doubt.

Her body was lithe, sleek, which meant she was healthy, though the presence of these adjectives indicated the absence of others. She _wasn’t_ as toned as Junko (fashion must be demanding!), as stocky as Hifune, who looked to be capable of surviving several stab wounds through sheer girth alone, and was, quite obviously, nowhere near as built as Oogami.

Normal weapons were out of the question, as she had no intention of taking a life for any reason, and she refused to play to the bear’s hands… paws… claws, so she worked on creating a handicap.

It was during that activity she discovered she was not the Ultimate Chemist.

The contents of the bottle she clutched were dubious… dubious, and potent. Unpleasant would be disrespectful of the toxin’s capabilities. But it would buy her precious time, should worst come to worst.

She moved to her bed, the exhaustion of the day finally setting in once her body made contact with the firm mattress and warm blankets and soft pil-

<\-- -->

The Ultimate Idol eyes flitted across the doors on their dormitories, searching. She sighed, and the hall sighed back at her.

Her hands were clutched together, fingers interlaced, if only to stop her fingers from…

_Stop. Calm... Calm. _

She hummed a little tune in her head, an old single they’d never got around to releasing. It brought some ease, though not the type most wanted. It felt more like resignation than anything pleasant.

Sayaka Maizono stood in front of her destination, about to rap an unblemished knuckle at the door before pausing.

_Should I?_

She clenched her eyes shut, dejected. Then she flinched, aware of how vulnerable she left herself for that fleeting second. Her eyes widened, and she spun around the hallway searching for dangerous people.

Satisfied that she’d found none, and anxious that may not be the case for long, Maizono knocked on her old schoolmate’s door.

Silence. Then, cylinders and springs shifting. The door was unlocked.

It opened, and she was greeted with a familiar comforting face.

She almost smiled, then she didn’t, the almost-expression of happiness being replaced by its twice removed third cousin, worry.

“Naegi?” she asked, all semblance of fear she’d experienced gradually replaced by confusion. “What happened to your face?”

Makoto smiled guiltily, nursing the damage in question. “I… fell.” He answered lamely, hand rested at the back of his neck. He gave a weak grin.

She gave one in kind, brittle and pleading.

His eyes widened. “What happened, Maizono?”

She opened her mouth, then paused, unsure of what to say, where to begin, what to do, and why this was happening to her and how unfair it all wa-

Makoto stumbled forward, catching himself. His hand gripped the doorframe desperately.

“Sorry…” he laughed weakly. Her eyes were drawn to the doorframe.

His hand shook.

No. It trembled.

_What happened?_

“I’m alright.” He promised unconvincingly. “Just tired, is all.”

Her head sank.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come…-“

“No, wait!” Makoto interrupted.

He stood up straighter, wide smile and beaming eyes.

His posture seemed to pain him, and his smile was on the fringe of faltering.

Sayaka almost smiled. Her mouth moved to make the motions.

Then he collapsed.

She caught him, barely. He collapsed backwards, and her movements turned frantic. She screamed. What she screamed, she couldn’t remember.

But it got someone’s attention. Chihiro left her dorm, face peeking out nervously at the commotion.

“M-Maizono?” She asked tentatively, before noting the collapsed boy. She sprinted down the hallway, knocking on every door she could, pleading for help.

Maizono could make barely make out a pompadour sticking out of an open door having a conversation Chihiro.

The school prefect sprinted down the hallway.

“Maizono! Maizono! What Is The Matter!” The Ultimate Moral Compass asked, voice as authoritarian and clipped as usual.

“Naegi… he…” her voice cracked. “Help him!”

Owada had made it onto the scene, Chihiro in tow. He moved to pick up the unconscious student before a rigid arm in white appeared in front of him.

“Owada! Stop! We Must Ascertain The Damage Before Acting!” He boomed.

Owada looked ready to argue, teeth bared threateningly. A small hand patted his back, unable to reach his shoulder, and his expression softened. He grunted and leaned against the wall, the Ultimate Programmer shadowing him.

“OK! Maizono! What Happened! Tell Me! From The Beginning!” the prefect demanded, eyes rapt and eyebrows attentive.

“He….” She trailed off.

“Only You Know What Exactly Happened! We Need Your Assistance! Please!” Ishimaru demanded, face terse from worry.

“We’ll need to move him, man. This isn’t right.”

“Did He Seem Tired!?- Was He Eating Properly!?- Drinking Properly!?- Defecating Properly!?” the prefect rambled, interrupting himself.

Taka’s voice rose, somehow. She didn’t think that was actually possible, but the prefect’s voice almost seemed to thump in her chest like a bass beat. “Please! Please! We need to know! We Need To Know How To Save Him!”

“You don’t yell at girls, shit-for-brains!”

“I’m Not Yelling!” Taka yelled, “You Errant Malefactor!”

“Call me a mail-mall-mile-whatever the fuck that is **one** more time-”

“ _both of you. please. stop. Naegi needs our help, please. i’m begging you two.._.” a small voice chimed in, pleading.

The two glared at one another for a moment, tensions mounting.

“Plea-ease!” she yelled, voice cracking partway.

They shifted their glares onto their shoes, ashamed.

Ishimaru checked Makoto’s neck for injuries before proceeding. Owada held his head in his palms.

“You Caught Him, Right, Maizono?!”

The blue-haired girl nodded once, still shaken.

“Grab His Left Arm, Owada. I’ll Take His Right.” The prefect ordered.

“Yeah, yeah…” The biker moved to do just that.

“Try To Emulate My Actions.” Ishimaru suggested, draping

“I’d rather not set myself up to get ganked here.”

“Whatever That ‘Ganked’ Concept You Purported To Be Is, Please Do Not Associate Me With-!“

“You’re doing it wrong.” A womanly voice interrupted, exasperated. They could practically **feel** the Fashionista rolling here eyes.

“We Have This Under Control, Ms. Enoshima. We Can Handle This-“

“No, you’re wrong.” She sighed audibly, disapproval dripping from her tone. She had a lawn chair behind her back, scant inches off the floor.

 “You use that method when they’re injured _and_ conscious, and when you’re of similar heights. Or were you planning on dragging him off, shoulders slanted, feet dangling like a freaking ragdoll?” She scolded, hands on hips, and impressive feat to accomplish without letting go of said chair.

The pair huffed, then glared at one another for mocking them. A loud snap drew back their attention.

“You’re supposed to put him in a chair and carry the goddamned chair. Much easier for tight turns, and safer than straight up hanging him by his shoulders.”

“I expect that back tomorrow, m’kay?” she added off-handedly, gesturing to the chair. “Otherwise I’ll be annoyed.”

On that note, she unceremoniously plopped the chair in front of them, giving a two-finger salute to no one in particular, and sauntered off back to her room.

The two began setting the unconscious boy on the chair carefully, lest they end up being part of the first-and fastest- trial of the killing games.

Thirteen pairs of eyes looked at the duo expectantly.

Ishimaru interpreted this an as opportunity to speak, naturally.

“Everyone!” he bellowed. “An Incident Occurred! But Do Not Fret, For We Are Here!”

Mondo groaned. Togami rolled his eyes. Kyoko blinked. Hifune began clapping. That was likely the only positive reaction among the student body.

The observers all filed into their respective dorms, one by one, some grumbling, muttering, confused.

The foursome set off to bring the injured boy into the infirmary.

<\-- -->

“ **I hope you all realize that only one of you can actually graduate, right**?” Monokuma half-drawled, half yawned, furry mechanical paw rubbing its unblinking red eye.

Owada and Ishimaru each took to a side of the mascot, lifting the chair over their alleged headmaster.

“ **H-Hey! Don’t ignore me-!** ” The pair stepped past the irate headmaster.

“ **Let me repeat that. Both of you will stop walking**.” The bear’s shrill voice stated. Calmly. The pair froze, hesitant to “upset” the instigator of their plight, and the potential cause for many more.

A hand shot up, as if to touch the bear’s shoulder. Then it did, and everyone froze. A pitch-black eye glinted dangerously…

“ **Violence against the headmaster will not be tol** -“

“ _naegi is unwell, headmaster monokuma_.” The small boy interrupted, eyes wide and drawing his hand back in shock from the impulsive contact. Owada and Ishimaru tensed, ready to intervene but unsure of how.

“ _may we take him to the infirmary, with your permission, o-of course?_ ” Chihiro appeased carefully, acutely aware of how little control they had, and how much of that was tenuous share was dependent on how they acted now.

The bear eyed him curiously, pantomiming deep contemplation whilst stroking what the programmer assumed was an imaginary beard.

“ **Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’ll allow it. in fact, I’m feeling generous, kid. I’ll even let lil luck snooze his heart out for the night**.”

Chihiro beamed, lips curled up in relief.

“ _thank you, headmaster_.” The student replied, grateful for the concession.

“ **don’t say I never did nothing good by you… upupupu** …”

It lazily waived a paw, signalling that duo that they were allowed to proceed. They moved at a much quicker pace, afraid the bear would (and could) rescind that order just as abruptly. Maizono trailed them, hands wrung together.

Chihiro moved to follow before a shrill whistle distracted him. He turned to the bear, who currently had fingers around (in? over?) its mouth.

“ **Do keep in mind i’m only extending this courtesy to him, though. violators will be subjected to the full extent of my imagination**.”

The programmer’s eyes sank, dejected.

“ **Come on now, sweetie! You’re lucky I have a soft spot you, for some strange reason**. ”

Silence mounted.

“ **You could have found out come morning and gotten dragged out kicking and screaming to your execution…** ” it trailed off sadistically.

Chihiro paled, eyes clenching shut. “ _th-thank you, headmaster_.”

Monokuma thumped a paw on their back, startling the petite student.

“ **Attagirl-boy-programmer-Chihiro**.”

Hazel eyes sprung open, wide, fearful, and searching for unwanted observers. He turned to glance, finding Owada, Ishimaru, Maizono, and Naegi gone. The sight, or lack thereof, turned into an audible sigh of relief.

In the panic, the bear had somehow scampered away.

Chihiro Fujisaki, the Ultimate Programmer, wholesome crossdresser /cinnamon-bun-extraordinaire, sprinted off to join his companions.

 


End file.
